I may, wearing a short skirt, walk boldly down an aisle,
I may, wearing high heels, slip, trip and fall;
You gather around me to gawk at my physical profile,
Not lifting me up from embarrassment because you think I’m your playdoll.
I may, draping a Saree, enjoy the breeze by the river,
Not noticing you from behind me tearing away my shawl;
Your friends push me into the river – my exposed body shivers
While your eyes suck upon my hidden breasts because you think I’m your playdoll.
I may, working overtime, return alone at night,
While you waiting in the dark throw me against the wall
Of the ruined church. I try to fight against your might;
You have me pinned down to the ground because you think I’m your playdoll.
My face goes white, my forehead bleeds, my eyes are red with fright,
I gasp for breath, you shove me down, I let out a fearful call;
You bite me down my body- nobody heeds my call at night,
You tear open my clothes because you think I’m your playdoll.
You dump me into the churchyard having satisfied your beastly thirst,
Pain shoots up my savaged body; on the cold floor I lay sprawled-
But with invincible strength I rise to avenge this night so cursed-
Because though I’m as beautiful as a doll, I’m not your playdoll!
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.